The End of the World
by GlasTriskellion
Summary: A short look at Captain Jack Sparrow and where he might have ended up after the end of DMC. It all belongs to the mouse. I'm just playing.
1. Confrontation

There had always been something a little different about Jack Sparrow. "A little fae," girls used to call him. "You don't know the half of it," he would sometimes mutter to himself in later years.

He never quite knew the whys and wherefores, but the end result was quite apparent. From the naiads who taught him to swim to the sprites that showed him how the wind blows, Jack Sparrow had always seen things no one else saw.

That is how he had found Davey Jones all those years ago, asking questions of those who no one else knew were watching. And that is why Jones was so willing to take the deal. Thirteen years was such a short time to wait for the power he would control in the end.

As he faced the kraken, Jack saw the sprites offering to spirit him away, heard the Pearl begging him to save himself. But today the Sparrow would not fly, but turn and fight. As he squared his hat, the Sea whispered promises. Face the kraken now and the hunt would end, his oath be fulfilled, but it would not be the end.

There was always something a little different about Jack Sparrow. Today, he drew his sword and plunged into the monster's maw, determined to see just how deep that difference went.


	2. Fiddler's Green

Jack stumbled, throwing his sword arm askew as he caught his footing on the soft, white sand of the beach. Wait, beach? He looked about in confusion at the white shore and the gentile waves that lapped the sand. He was still wearing his coat, his hat, his boots. His sword was in his ring bedecked hand and a twist of his head proved the beads still lay in his hair. But a moment ago he had been on the Pearl.

"The Pearl!" He swung around, looking out to see … and quickly located his lady dancing lightly in place in the cove. On reflex, he glanced beyond her gleaming spars where could see the breakers forming as the waves crossed the reef at the cove's mouth, and the spot of deeper blue where the safe passage passed. But it was the Pearl who garnered the bulk of his attention. She was whole and strong, her sails luffing proudly in the wind. Which was impossible.

Jack turned back to the island, trying to make sense of how he could have been one moment leaping into the mouth of the kraken, his beloved Pearl falling to pieces about him, and the next here, on this island. A closer look at the palm trees before him offered a clue.

It took only a moment to shed his coat, sword, and boots, and but another to scamper up the nearest palm like a monkey. And nestled where the coconuts should be he found another brown object of a decidedly different origin, several of which he quickly loosed and dropped carefully into the soft sand below.

Once safely back on terra firma, Jack picked up one of the objects, wiggled the cork from the neck, and took a good sniff. The sniff was immediately followed by taking a slug from the bottle. Jack let out a contented sigh as the rich rum settled into his stomach. That did it. He knew exactly where he was.

"Now, where's the ladies?"

Now when you're in dock and the long trip is through  
There's pubs and there's clubs and there's lassies there too  
And the girls are all pretty and the beer is all free  
And there's bottles of rum growing on every tree.

-From the old folk song _Fiddlers Green_


	3. Flying

When he woke up that morning, he knew it was time. Oh, he'd spent the occasional night aboard her, but now he needed more than just the feel of her keel beneath his feet and the sway of the soft swells in the bay.

The ladies all protested. They had become quite fond of the company of Captain Jack Sparrow. The men all laughed. Why would he want to leave the perfect community they had found? He laughed with them, and swaggered about in his usual daft manner, bidding them all adieu and refusing invitations for another game, another drink, another lady.

His lady was waiting for him in the bay, where he had quietly provisioned her with food and rum over the weeks, months, or years past. Time was quite fluid here, and no one was ever quite sure how long it had been. But he knew it was time.

He swam to her side and climbed gladly aboard. There was no crew waiting for him, not a single other man was with her. Here, he knew he needed no hands but his own to guide his lady. As he stepped up to her wheel, he caressed the wood softly, a lover's touch, and sighed with contentment. This was what he had missed, what they both needed.

With a gentle tug, he turned her wheel and pointed her bow at the safe passage through the reef. Her anchor obligingly rose and her sails filled with wind, trimmed perfectly for the path they had chosen.

"That's it, love," he whispered. "There's a storm on the horizon, and it's been far too long since we've flown."


End file.
